[ since the elevators malfunctioned, arthur's returned to dressing in full armour constantly, and so he's clad now in chain and plate as he addresses the screen. he's sweaty, dirty-blond hair plastered to a forehead pinkened with exertion, though his breathing is even. ]

Evening, Tranquility. Back home, in Camelot, I spent a large amount of my time training the knights; and with their honour and devotion, as well as their skills, I honed them into the finest warriors in the realm.

[ there's something rose-tinted about that nostalgia. he's right at the point where he's starting to forget to miss camelot, sometimes, and he's clinging onto thoughts of it fiercely. ]

Though my men are not with us, and I'm lacking an armoury—

[ some amusement in his tone at that. ]

—I thought perhaps I'd extend the offer to any who wish to learn to defend themselves. You'll be assigned training tasks to improve your general fitness and understanding of strategy, and I'll teach you the sword. I'm skilled in plenty of weapons, but not many of them can be substituted with sticks.

[ and then he draws his blade from its scabbard, twirls it in his hand with idle showiness. ]

The amount of time I'll have available will obviously depend on the level of interest. I've already got a couple of pupils, but I welcome more, so long as you're willing to work hard and obey orders. You may think it absurd, but a blade never runs out of bullets.

[ obviously nobody's told him about blasters. ]

[ Daylen rarely uses the network.

In fact, the few times he does it's either in private messages or replies to other people. He can't shake the distrust of it, a distrust as much from inability to understand as general suspicion over how it works.

Still. Alistair uses it. Other people he likes and gives credit to use it. If it indeed works as it seems to, then it could be a useful tool.

More importantly, it could gather him the answers he seeks. Even the ones he might not wish to hear but has to. ]

A moment of your time, for those inclined to answer.

I have heard stories of those who vanish during jumps or before, mixed information.

I have heard that those who vanish completely -- their reference upon these things returns a different message which indicates this.

I have heard some vanish and return at a later 'jump', with different memories. Some remember this place, some do not. Some with different demeanour or events recalled to when they left. Some differently gendered, even.

I would like to hear from people who have experience with this, or anything to add. I wish to understand better. Thank you in advanced.

 [ He clears his throat. ]

Alistair here. I'm reporting that Shale's body was... irretrievable. [ A small, muttered "I guess". ] The black hole thingie that killed her is still there. So, unless you want to find it yourself, you're going to need a lot of padding and a lot of rope. [ He chuckles, not really that into it, before pausing. ] No, but seriously, don't do that. The black hole will suck you in and you will die.

The gist of it is basically what everybody else has mentioned before. Walking around alone is a bad idea. If the monsters don't get you, the black hole will.

And to everybody else that knew Shale... [ Right. This is the hardest part. But a good king knows how to lie through his teeth. ] She was a good soldier and a good friend. Whether she's by the Maker's side or she returned to The Stone, know that she's in a better place now.

Hi! It’s, um, Alistair again. [ never mind that his last post was months ago ] Sorry to bother your important networking business but me and my friend Kane just want to ask about this… Jenna person as she is known to procure chips of the cheesy variety, apparently, or anybody else that could help our “chee-toes” problem, really.

Uh… I’d be willing to trade for it. I have some… [ He scatters his items on his table, but all the network could hear is some rattling. ] …gold coins. And some health poultices.

[ he's sitting in the oxygen gardens, a wooden pipe in his mouth and large white smoke-rings curling from the end of the pipe. there's an open book in his lap and there's a lingering weariness in his posture, despite how relaxed he seems.

still, when frodo speaks up, his voice is fond, light, moving his pipe away from his lips. ]

Where I come from, smoking pipeweed is considered an art. Making good smoke-rings like this--there's nothing quite like it.

[ frodo pauses; glances at his book then. ]

My dearest friend told me that he wondered if anything we've done would ever be put into 'great stories.'
"The stories that really mattered, that stayed with you."  As a lad I spent most of my life reading about stories, learning them and I'd always had my favorites with my Uncle. He went on a many great adventures.

[ he smiles quietly ]
Sometimes stories can be..quite different than we imagine them to be when we begin them. The same could be said of adventures.

Do you have a story like that? One that's stayed with you. Perhaps something you knew as a child, or one you found in a book. Perhaps it isn't a story but a moment that you've shared and relived with others over and over again. I'd be glad to hear them.

I wish to speak of magic.

[Loki lifts a hand and a ball of green light appears in his palm.]

Some consider it a science, others mere...trickery...

An illusion but naught else.

[He breathes on to the orb and it cracks; veins of light jagging across its surface, then a small dragon starts to emerge, as if hatching.]

It is hard to consider magic in a place such as this, that feels so sterile and dark. But, I think, there are many among us who come from places where the arcane is not so alien.

And we long for that...

For some mystical light, to illuminate the darkness.

[He lowers his hands and the little dragon hovers in place, flapping its glowing wings.]

To give us wonder, once more.

Who here knows about magic, and its practice? And to whom is it naught but a lie.

[He frowns and waves his fingers through the dragon, causing it to dissolve.]

Miles, I already know your answer, so you need not respond.

((ooc: People who admit to knowing/using magic will go on Loki's "stalker list", just in case that is something you'd like to avoid.))

[It's late at night when the transmission comes across and it's coming from one of the many kitchens where Angela's seated at a table, a small plastic tupperware container in front of her. The lid's been popped off and every so often, she reaches inside for one of the miniature Reese's peanut butter cups and unwraps it before popping it into her mouth. She's clearly been here for a while with the number of empty wrappers strewn around her, but she doesn't seem likely to go back to her room any time soon. At least not before she turns to the device and whispers into it.]

Most of you guys are probably sleeping or something. Who knows what time it is here, but I'm assuming you won't hear this until later. Either way, question mostly for the people who've been here for more than a couple jumps: do you get homesick? Or are you too busy dealing with the bullshit from the ship?

[Angela pauses to finish chewing the candy, following it up with another one that she swallows as she chooses her next words carefully.]

It's not like I've never been away from home. I've lived all over the world, some places only for a week or so, but at least I had a phone or the internet. Everybody I knew was never more than just a phone call away. I'm good for picking up and going because it's Tuesday, but I never stopped checking in.

[Another candy goes down before she lifts the wrapper in mock salute.]

Thanks for the candy, Isaac.

[ This is Bruce Wayne's voice. Cheerful, foppish, and the audio itself is somehow unsteady as though he can't decide how close to his mouth to hold the device. Apparently his default is too close, because--well, you'll see. He speaks like he's called someone specific. ]

Um, hi there. I bet I mess this up somehow, send it to the wrong number - something like that - but I don't really know that many people here, and... Well, this is embarrassing, actually--

[ At this point he bumps the video feature on with his chin, and it records a swathe of his jaw. ]

Do you know how to cook?

[ He's squinting into the camera, super close when he draws the device back, so that only his left eye and a swathe of slightly too-long hair falling over his forehead is visible, and then that eye narrows and the feed shuts off. ]

[ The video feed starts, and Stephanie waves. She's sitting on her bed in her "room," smiling through the screen. ]

So, I've been thinking about the whole "space hell" theme this place has going on, and I came to the realization that not everything that happens here is going to be all rainbows and butterflies, obviously.

I mean, this ship is looking more horror sci-fi and less action adventure sci-fi every day. And I kind of like being alive and well, as surprising as that might sound.

[ She pauses, hesitating. ]

What I'm getting at is...would anyone be up for teaching me self-defense?

[ Not that she really needs the help, as self-defense was thoroughly covered in Bat-training.

But if Batgirl wants to go out and about, her alter ego has to be nothing but normal—Stephanie Brown, an average teenage girl with zero space experience, zero fighting experience, and zero spandex experience. ]

If a rabbit could talk, what do you think he might sound like? It's a boy rabbit. A nice one, but not too nice. Tolerant but fair.

[ The feed turns on. He sees people on the other side, and he's pretty sure other people could see him, like a small, two-way mirror! That’s certainly progress. (He doesn't trust the device but it's progress.) There's a bit of an emphasis on the "small" part, though, so he puts the mirror closer to his eyes, just short of pressing it against his face. He needs to talk to somebody and get to the bottom of this. ]

Hello there! Can you hear me?

[ The other people in the feed seem to be listening. He takes that as a good sign and continues talking. ]

I’m Alistair, the… uh, King of Ferelden. I would like to inquire about this place, if that's all right. Mainly, where am I? What am I doing here? I’m not… in grave danger, am I? Because I really ought to be getting back to Denerim, I sort of have a country to run, thanks.

Oh, but if none of you could answer that, then can I at least ask for an audience with your… king? Viscount? Leader? Whatever you call them? I’m sure we can work something out. Resolve it diplomatically. I walk away, they get something, good feelings and negotiations all around.